


Blank

by IndelibleEvidence



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag: 5x10, F/M, Five Times Format, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25366906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndelibleEvidence/pseuds/IndelibleEvidence
Summary: a.k.a. Five Times Jane Didn't Remember (and One Time She Did). Jeller episode tag to 5x10.Since this is a five-times format fic, it's going to be random snapshots - Jane in hospital, Jane in her apartment, Jane at the NYO, Jane looking through her inheritance from Shepherd, Jane in the locker room... and then the one time she remembers - for which you'll just have to wait and see!
Relationships: Jane Doe/Kurt Weller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this is spoilery for the end of 5x10, but I'm writing it before 5x11 has aired, so who knows what could happen? Also, I haven't looked at any fanfic since last week's episode (I'm avoiding finale spoilers - I haven't even seen the preview yet!), so if anyone else has already written their version of this scene, I hope I haven't mind-melded too badly. And please don't mention anything to do with promo pics if you leave a review, because I haven't seen those either. I'm hoping to go in totally blind next week. :)

**One**

The doctor left, and Jane—her name was Jane Doe, actually Jane Doe? And how did she remember that that was law enforcement code for a woman with no name, when she hadn’t known it was her literal name until they’d told her?—pulled the hospital sheets further up her body, feeling too exposed.

“The good news is,” the doctor had said, “you do have people who love you. I’ll let them know they can come and reintroduce themselves. Maybe it will help your memory.”

Any second now, someone would walk through the door and expect her to remember them. And if she didn’t, it would hurt them. And probably her, too.

She twisted her hands together nervously, looking down at them. She wore a ring on her left ring finger, and several times, she’d contemplated it already. Was she married? Separated or divorced, but pining for a relationship she could no longer have, in denial that it was over? Widowed, and wearing this ring in remembrance of a dead spouse? Or maybe this was an engagement ring, though it didn’t look as flashy as she somehow seemed to remember engagement rings were supposed to be.

Maybe whoever walked through the door would be able to tell her.

For a couple of silent minutes, she turned over the meagre facts she had in her mind. _My name is Jane Doe. My date of birth on the hospital bracelet puts me at thirty-five years old. I have all these weird tattoos, and a wedding ring. I was somehow exposed to a chemical that wiped my memory, and the doctor said it wasn’t the first time I’d lost my memory that way._

_And I have people who love me. People who know who I am. That’s good, right?_

As if on cue, someone tapped on the door and opened it. Jane’s breath caught as a man appeared, hesitating in the doorway for a second, staring at her with a mixture of emotions that twisted her stomach: hope, fear, exhaustion, concern…and overwhelming love.

But she didn’t remember him at all. If not for the way he was looking at her, she’d never have guessed that she had once known him.

He swallowed hard, reacting to the expression on her face—did she look as clueless as she felt?—then closed the door quietly behind him. Coming to sit beside her bed, he took a deep breath.

“Jane…” He sighed shakily. “I don’t know what to say. You must be going through hell. I…I can tell you don’t remember me, but do I look familiar? At all?”

She wet her lips, preparing to speak. Her voice emerged scratchy and apologetic. “I don’t remember anything, not even myself. I’m sorry. Who are you?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as though cursing himself for his stupidity. “Sorry. It’s been a long night, and I’m not thinking straight. I’m Kurt… Kurt Weller. I’m your husband.”

Well, that explained the wedding ring. She glanced down at it, then at the ring he wore—thicker, bolder. Like he was proud to be taken, wanted the world to know it.

He smiled a little, despite how clearly stressed he was, and reached tentatively for her left hand with his own, reuniting their rings. “Yeah.”

She didn’t remember him, but it was…comforting, somehow, to take his hand.

“How long have we been married?” she asked, looking from his ring up to his face.

“Almost four years.” He lifted her hand to his cheek, pressing her fingers there in a gesture that felt almost too intimate. “Please. Look closer. Try to remember me.”

There were tears in his eyes, and even though she didn’t remember, it made her want to cry, too. She leaned forward, gazing at his hopeful, pained expression, tracing her fingers down his cheek and across his stubbled jaw as she searched desperately for something, anything she recognised.

Surely she should remember touching this face, looking into these expressive green eyes that watched her with so much anxious, broken-hearted love? He was such a handsome man, maybe a few years older than she was, but not many—crows’ feet around his eyes and laughter lines around his mouth, but also wrinkles across his brow that indicated he’d had a lot to worry about, even before today. His stubble was fairly long, his dark facial and head hair just starting to show subtle signs of greying, in a very attractive way. Maybe he was usually clean-shaven, but maybe he just kept the stubble trimmed.

He didn’t seem to be hiding anything from her—she couldn’t see that any part of him was closed off to her. She could easily imagine herself falling in love with this man—but she didn’t remember anything, despite how urgently she wanted to.

“I’m sorry.” She let her hand fall from his face, and he reached for it where it rested against the blanket, obviously needing to be in contact with her. “Maybe I’ll remember something in a day or two? If the…the chemical I’ve been exposed to needs some time to wear off?”

“Yeah.” He dashed a tear from his eye with his thumb, looking away, composing himself. “We don’t know exactly what’s going to happen there. It’s not your first time being exposed to ZIP.”

Was she a scientist of some kind? “What happened, exactly?”

“We’re FBI. _Were_ FBI. It’s complicated, and I don’t want to confuse you too much right now. But we were tracking down a terrorist cell who had chemical weapons and planned to release them in New York. One of them somehow got set off. You sealed yourself in the airtight room to prevent the ZIP from getting out, to prevent…” He struggled for a second, as though afraid his voice would break. “To prevent anyone else from getting exposed. But it was too late for you.”

“I’m law enforcement? We both are?” And he was making her sound like some kind of hero. She’d just assumed there’d been an industrial accident or something. This was so much more dramatic.

She must be a good person. They both must be.

“Yeah. And the rest of the people who are waiting to talk to you, they work with us. Not blood relations, but we’re all kind of like family. Complicated situation, like I said. We’ve had some trouble recently. We were framed for some stuff we didn’t do. But we’re almost through it all now.”

She wasn’t sure what to think of that, but she focused on the most important thing. “Did we stop the attack? Get the…the terrorists who did this to me?”

Anger and determination flickered into his expression—the anger not directed at her, but on her behalf. “We’re working on it. Soon, I think.”

“I want to help. Will you let me do something?” she pleaded, expecting him to tell her no, but needing to try.

To her surprise, he looked almost amused. “Yeah. After the doctors confirm you’re not physically in any danger, we can get you discharged and put you to work. I think you’ll be surprised at some of the things you can do. You were the first time around, too.”

She frowned at him, lost, but remembering the doctor had said this wasn’t her first time being exposed to the chemical. “I lost my memory and got it back before, and this is the second time? Was it a chemical weapon that time, too?”

He kissed her hand, sending tingles through her skin. It seemed too soon for such a gesture, and yet strangely right at the same time. Maybe part of her _did_ remember him.

“Like I said, it’s _very_ complicated. I will tell you everything, I promise. But first, I want to let our friends re-introduce themselves. They’ve all been worried about you.” He hesitated. “Is that okay, or do you need some time to cope with what I’ve told you already?”

“No,” she said immediately, needing as much information as possible. Needing to know who Jane Doe had been, before it had all been wiped away. “Even if I didn’t remember you, the more people I meet, the more likely it is that something will trigger, right?”

The stranger who was her husband nodded. “Yeah. Last time, you got back your first few memories in the field. Working for the FBI, I mean. Doing physical things, like fighting, shooting, even walking through the snow.”

That explained why he was eager to let her help. He was hoping the same would be true again. God, she hoped he was right.

He squeezed her hand. “You will remember yourself, Jane. I believe that.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’m gonna go get one of the others. Not sure who yet—they were arguing over who gets to come in first after me, when I left them. But I’ll still be here, if you need me. Out in the waiting room. Just ask them to come get me, and they will.”

She nodded, glad of the reassurance, despite not knowing their history. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

Kurt gave her hand one final squeeze, then reluctantly released it as he stood up. “See you soon. I love you.”

She opened and closed her mouth, not knowing what to say in response. She didn’t remember him, so how could she love him? But even so, she sensed that she once had—very strongly.

He flinched, something akin to grief flashing through his face, but he put up a brave front almost immediately. “It’s okay. I’m not expecting you to— I’ll…I’ll see you in a little while.”

He made it to the door before she gathered herself to speak. “Kurt?”

He turned, expectant, trying to hide his distress.

“I know I did love you, before I lost everything. Somehow I…I feel that.” Did that make things any easier for him? Or was she just grinding salt into his wounds?

He smiled a little—genuine, though melancholy. “You did. I know you did.”

“I think…” She faltered, not wanting to raise his expectations, in case it didn’t happen. But she already felt so drawn to him—surely it would? “I _hope_ that I do again.”

His jaw trembled for a split second before he firmed it. “Yeah. Me too.” As though he couldn’t stand it anymore, he cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and slipped out of the room.

Jane felt as though she’d simultaneously lost and gained something very valuable. She just couldn’t make sense of what it all meant yet. How it fitted.

Maybe she was just desperately clinging to the connection she must have once had to this man she didn’t know. Deluding herself, because she wanted to know who she was so very much.

_But it’s a starting point, right?_


	2. Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm skipping chunks of narrative, because this is more of a five-times fic than a plotty one. I hope that doesn't annoy anyone too much!

**Two**

“Go ahead.” With a faint smile, Kurt pushed open the door and gestured for her to walk into the apartment first.

Steeling herself—was she worried that she wouldn’t be able to remember, or apprehensive that she’d remember something bad?—Jane walked into the open-plan living, dining and kitchen area of the spacious apartment. At least, she assumed it was usually a little more spacious than it currently seemed. Right now, various boxes and bags were strewn around, and the three other people already there made things look more than a little crowded.

Kurt had explained that because they’d all been away—she couldn’t believe they’d all been fugitives, and were still in the process of having their names cleared—Tasha and Patterson would be staying with them that night. They had no places to call their own in the city right now—their apartment leases had been terminated when their bank accounts had been frozen, when their automatic rent payments hadn’t come out on time.

Rich Dotcom—she still couldn’t believe that was actually what he’d changed his legal name to, but Kurt had confirmed it later—was supposed to be staying with his boyfriend, Boston, but he seemed to be making himself comfortable here anyway.

“Hey, welcome home!” Rich beamed at her and leaned over for a hug. A little stunned by the effusiveness of his greeting, she returned the embrace awkwardly, looking at Tasha and Patterson over his shoulder.

She hadn’t even hugged her husband yet.

Patterson—weird that she’d insisted on being called by her surname if they were such good friends, but she’d assured Jane at the hospital that she just hated her first name—looked from Jane’s face to Kurt’s, and cleared her throat. “Rich, could I get your help here for a second?”

“Sure.” Rich released her with a quick grin and went to Patterson’s side. She grabbed his elbow and began speaking to him in a low tone, as Kurt cleared his throat behind her.

She turned, wondering if he was annoyed at Rich for hugging her, but he was heading into the kitchen, looking into the pots on the stove.

“Hey, Too Many Cooks, get out of there!” Tasha called.

“It’s my kitchen, Tash,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but _I’m_ the one cooking, and if you start meddling, you’ll confuse me. So let me handle that, and you take care of Jane, okay?” She squeezed Jane’s arm on the way past, and Kurt guiltily returned to Jane’s side.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “The kitchen is usually my domain.”

“Oh, you’re the one who cooks? Am I bad at it, or are you just that good?” Jane asked curiously.

“Little of both,” he admitted, and they shared an amused moment, as though the rest of the team weren’t even here. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the apartment.”

Feeling almost shy, she followed him out of the living room and let him show her their bedroom, the bathroom, the spare bedroom where Kurt’s daughter slept when she was visiting—Jane had a stepdaughter and didn’t even remember her—and the utility room. After that, Kurt beckoned her back into their bedroom and pushed the door almost all the way closed.

“Sorry. I know it’s not ideal having so many people around. The circumstances are pretty chaotic right now. I just wanted to give you a few moments of quiet.”

“It’s okay.” Jane wandered over to the dresser and picked up a framed picture. In it, she and Kurt posed at the beach with a smiling blonde toddler. It didn’t take much detective work to figure out that this was Bethany. “This is nice. We look like a family.”

“We are. A lot’s happened, and I know you must be wondering what the hell kind of life you used to have, but it isn’t always as bad as it is right now. The memory loss came at the worst possible time.”

Jane dusted off the picture frame with her shirt sleeve before she put it back in its place. The apartment had been vacant for a few months, and it didn’t look as though anyone had had time to catch up on the housework yet. She wasn’t sure how good she was at keeping things clean, but she was already feeling the urge to dust things, so she guessed she wasn’t terrible at it.

She turned to look up at Kurt, who quickly hid the pain and worry on his face as he realised she was watching him.

“Does being here bring anything back?”

She wished so hard that the answer was yes—for herself, but also for him. The toll this was taking on him was obvious, though he was trying to hold it together for her sake.

She visualised the living room in her mind’s eye again—sitting on the comfortable-looking couch with Kurt, eating takeout and drinking wine. It wasn’t a memory, just her imagination, but it was easy to imagine being happy here, with him.

Jane let her attention sweep the room before returning to him. They must have experienced so many intimate moments in this bedroom, as well as more mundane ones like getting ready for work every morning. Although she loved the décor and cosy feel of the room—of all the rooms—she just didn’t remember ever having seen any of it before.

Disappointed, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Nothing yet. This… It must be so hard for you. Like I’m not really the person you knew anymore.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said immediately, deflecting her concern.

She stepped closer. “I can’t help it. I don’t remember you, but just from what’s happened since I woke up in the hospital, I can tell we had a close marriage. And it’s so obvious that this is hard for you. So I can’t help but worry.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. You have enough to worry about with everything else. You should just be able to lean on me.”

“I want you to be able to lean on me, too,” she said softly, and reached for his hand. “And I don’t… When Rich hugged me out there… I realised I haven’t even hugged _you_ yet.”

A tinge of amusement crept into his expression, as he covered her hand with both of his. “Rich doesn’t really care about stuff like that. He didn’t do it on purpose; he’s just clueless sometimes.”

“Yeah. I kind of got that impression.” A little nervously, she stepped even closer. “Would you hold me for a minute?”

“Are you doing this for me, or for you?” he asked, studying her carefully. She saw that he wanted to—he couldn’t conceal the longing in his face—but he was trying to be respectful of her feelings and boundaries while she was so lost.

She still couldn’t say that she loved him yet, but that he respected her just drew her to him more. She couldn’t deny that there was a spark between them, even if it was mostly smothered by her lack of memories.

“For both of us,” she murmured, hoping that she didn’t look desperate.

He pulled her into his arms, his embrace so achingly familiar, yet with no memories to accompany it. It was like forgetting a word, or the lyrics to a song—it was on the edge of her brain, but nothing would come. The tactile sensation, she remembered. Specific instances of hugging him, though, she couldn’t recall.

She closed her eyes and hung on to him tightly, comforted. As she tried to navigate this unfamiliar life she’d found herself immersed in, she couldn’t help but feel that he was solid ground.

His breathing was a little shaky, and she guessed he was as emotional as she was—only probably ten times worse. She’d forgotten their whole life together, and that had to be hell on him. She was distressed and frustrated at what she couldn’t remember, but she also felt kind of numb. Maybe it was an effect of the ZIP.

But Kurt… He’d remember everything. Remember jokes they’d shared and arguments they’d had, all the times when they’d strengthened their relationship through discussion and compromise, all the progress they’d made since they first met. He’d look at her and see everything was gone. It must be hell.

“How long did we know each other before we started dating?” she asked, not letting him go.

He laughed a little sadly, still holding her just as tight. “Well, it was complicated between us for a while. You kissed me only a few weeks after we first met, but it took over a year for us to actually make it to the dating stage. After that, things moved pretty quickly. We were married within four months.”

“Why was it complicated? How did we meet? At work?” she asked.

Kurt drew away, his expression conflicted. “Let’s…get food out of the way, and send Rich over to Boston’s. Then we can sit down and talk about that. I promise.”

Feeling vulnerable now he’d pulled away, she wrapped her arms around her own midsection. “Was it that bad?”

“It was the best thing that ever happened to me, in more ways than one. But your memory was already gone when we first met. I…” He sighed. “Have you looked at the tattoos on your back yet?”

She shook her head, confused. “I’ve looked at the ones I could see easily, but…”

“You were tattooed, and your memory was wiped. There’s a tattoo on your back…it’s of my name. It says _Kurt Weller, FBI_. You were sent to me, with no memory.”

“I was a victim in one of your cases?” Jane stared from him down at the tattoos on her arms, then back again, her questions spinning out of control. “That’s how we met? Someone did that to me? Did we ever find out who, or why?”

“Yeah.” Again, he looked torn. “Jane, this is a long, complicated story, and you have every right to know it, but you’re not gonna like a lot of the stuff in it. Can we wait a couple of hours? Please?”

Feeling a little nauseous, Jane nodded slowly. “Yeah. O-of course. Uh, how long until we eat? Do I have time to take a shower?”

“Yeah. Take as long as you need. Let me show you where we keep everything.”

As though she were a guest in her own home—which didn’t feel too far from the truth—he grabbed her a towel and showed her which drawers held her clean clothing, then left her to shower, after another wistful look and a touch on the shoulder.

Jane locked herself into the bathroom with a sigh of relief. Not that she found Kurt difficult company, but she needed some time alone to process everything he’d told her just now. Quickly, she stripped to the waist and turned to look at herself in the mirror over the bathroom counter.

_Wow. That’s…hard to miss._

Her husband’s name was boldly printed in capital letters across the entire top half of her back. She guessed whoever had tattooed her must have wanted to make sure she was sent to the right person at the FBI.

_Who did this to me? Why did they send me to him, specifically? The tattoos…if I didn’t choose them, were they clues to something, clues for Kurt?_

Jane stripped off the rest of her clothing in a daze, wanting to cry, but feeling as though the tears were sealed off somehow—unreachable. She got into the shower, feeling more detached from reality by the second.

_I want my memories back. This is all so strange, like something out of some kind of crime story. I hate not having all the answers, but I’m scared of what those answers are. And Kurt, and my friends—it feels like I can trust them, but the whole situation with this, and with us having been fugitives before… Am I being naïve? Were we on the wrong side of the law?_

_I just want the truth. But I don’t know if I can deal with it when I get it._


	3. NYO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what the sneak peeks are showing about this week's episode, and I don't want to know - I'm just focusing on getting to the one time Jane does remember before the finale, so I don't confuse my headcanon with what's actually going to happen!

**Three**

“My disclaimer from last night still stands, okay? You’re not a bad person.” Patterson touched Jane’s shoulder lightly, then retreated.

Jane nodded, her polite smile fading as Patterson left the room. She had tried to believe that reassurance through the horror of details they’d shared with her the night before, but how could she believe she was a good person when everything she’d learned was so horrific?

She’d _willingly_ put these tattoos on her skin. She’d replaced the DNA sample of Kurt’s dead childhood friend with her own, so that her DNA would falsely register as that of Taylor Shaw, missing for twenty-five years. She’d had her terrorist group wipe her memory and drop her off in Times Square, naked, in a duffel bag with a tag that said ‘call the FBI’ on it. And then she’d gotten close to Kurt, thinking she was his childhood friend because she’d had no memory, but as soon as her former fiancé had approached her, she’d also started working behind Kurt’s back to plant evidence that had led to the disgrace and death of the former Deputy Director of the FBI.

And Kurt had married her anyway, even after learning what a duplicitous bitch she’d been. She didn’t know what to make of that. Her friends said she’d tried hard to make up for what she’d done, that she’d helped to bring down her terrorist family and the rest of their group. That she’d won their trust, and Kurt’s heart, in the process of saving millions of lives.

But she couldn’t imagine her tattoo stunt was the only bad thing she’d done as a terrorist. She must have murdered innocent people. Dozens, even hundreds or thousands. How could she ever wipe away that stain on her soul, even by doing good?

She wished her brain didn’t feel like cotton wool today. She hadn’t slept well, tormented by what-ifs and worries about the past, and about the future.

What if she never got her memories back?

What if she _did_?

Which would be worse?

Jane took a moment to collect herself, staring at the still image of herself on the screen. In the video, she was wearing a white tank top, the plain clothing a stark contrast to the artwork inked into every visible inch of skin on her arms, shoulders and upper chest. The video had been filmed from above—a camera set into the corner of the room, like a CCTV camera, Jane guessed.

_How do I know things like the usual positions of CCTV cameras, but not remember this encounter taking place?_

It was useless to worry about things like that. She pressed play on the video, and her image on-screen looked up, startled, as someone entered the featureless interrogation room.

At least she could say she recognised Kurt, from the last couple of days. As she watched, he introduced himself as the lead agent on her case, and sat down opposite her.

_This must be the first time we met._

She watched, intrigued, as he asked her to try to remember him, and she reached out tentatively to his face in response. He was clearly very uncomfortable with the inappropriate, intimate gesture—his body language was tense and closed-off—but he endured it, for her sake.

At least she knew now why he’d taken her hand and put it to his face at the hospital. He’d been trying to recreate this first meeting, hoping it triggered this memory for her.

In both instances, she’d come up blank. And watching this now was a completely new experience, too.

Kurt had told her that the first time around, she’d started to get memories back almost immediately, within a few days of her exposure to ZIP. He’d also admitted that that time, it hadn’t just been ZIP in her system, but a whole pharmaceutical cocktail, and that it was likely that the man who’d dosed her, Markos, had been having second thoughts about being part of her family’s plans. He’d said that it was likely Markos had tampered with the dosage to make her memories come back faster than planned.

What did that mean for her now?

She clicked the next video Patterson had recommended she watch—a statement given under an ‘MRI-based coronary lie detector’.

She was in a hospital gown, hooked up to some sophisticated-looking equipment, and her face was heavily bruised. She looked weary, angry and distrustful.

Then again, from what they’d told her last night, she had every right to be those things. She’d been tortured by her own government for three months, as a terror suspect, or at least under suspicion of working for an enemy country.

Jane watched herself give the interrogating agent—no one she’d met since her memory had been wiped the other day—her version of what had happened, which the polygraph had confirmed as the truth. Even the part about killing her old fiancé, who’d been her handler, in self-defence. Her past self had also promised to try to go undercover with the group that had sent her there, to find out what they were planning and stop it.

At least some good had come of losing her memory—it seemed to have made her a better person. Though she guessed she hadn’t really had much of a choice, at the time.

Still, she had to wonder what kind of a man would ask her to marry him, knowing what had happened to her last fiancé. Kurt seemed like a good man, but she couldn’t afford to assume anything yet. Her own past was enough evidence of that.

Kurt quietly entered the small room she was sitting in, and pulled up a chair nearby. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his eyes on the laptop screen. The video had finished playing, but the still on the screen made it obvious which one it had been.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I _look_ like I meant well, here. Trying to protect you, trying to bring Oscar in. But all the things I did before I lost my memory… You said I got all of those memories back, eventually? Even the old stuff?”

Kurt nodded.

“How could I live with myself, after everything I’d done? How could _you_ live with me, marry me, knowing what a terrible person I’d been?”

“People change, Jane.” He sighed. “The one thing I learned from meeting you is that no one is good or bad, through and through. There are shades of grey. And it _is_ possible for people to change, if they genuinely want to do good. And when I asked you to marry me, it was because I knew how much you’d changed, and I was able to forgive you for how you’d hurt us in the past. I love you because of the person you’ve become, regardless of who you used to be.”

She nodded, wishing she could believe in herself, the way he obviously did. “But now all that is gone again. I lost all the progress I made; I have to start over.”

She wished she hadn’t said it the moment she’d finished speaking. The look on Kurt’s face, for one terrible instant, was agonised. She’d verbalised exactly what was tormenting him.

“It’s temporary. You _will_ get those memories back, Jane.”

_But who will I be, when I do? The terrorist, or the good person you fell in love with?_

She didn’t say it, because she’d already hurt him enough. But maybe he knew her well enough to guess what was on her mind, because he added, “And until then, you get to be who you want to be. You’ve been so worried that I can tell you want to do good things. So let’s do good things.”

She straightened her spine, nodding. “The terrorist group with the ZIP bombs. The, the…Dabbur Zann? Where are we on finding them?”

He smiled a little, his eyes warming with affection, as though he saw something he recognised and loved about her behaviour. “Probably won’t have a lead we can follow for a few more hours. But the first time you lost your memory, being at the shooting range brought something back. Do you wanna try that?”

Hoping she didn’t look as flustered by his expression as she felt, Jane nodded. “Let’s go.”

As she followed him down the hall, it was difficult not to dwell on _why_ she knew how to shoot and fight. Because her terrorist mother had raised her to be a deadly weapon.

 _I don’t know who I am, and now I don’t know if I_ want _to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided the team would not want to burden Jane with the possibility that she might be dying at this point, but realistically, the doctors probably would have told her. So maybe the stem cells are still in her brain, just working on neutralising the ZIP, and she'll get all her memories back as the ZIP is cleared out of her system, but it's going to take a while? Who knows? :D


	4. Inheritance

**Four**

“So this stuff all came to me after Shepherd died?”

Jane hesitated not too far from the doorway, overwhelmed by the sight of all the objects spread around the room. Every surface held multiple objects, all seemingly unrelated to one another, and at first glance, nothing was familiar.

“Yeah. You had a theory that Shepherd put it all in one place so that when your mission was done, and it was time for you to remember being Remi, she could show you this stuff, help you get those memories back.” Kurt sat carefully on the edge of a table, which was clear enough to accommodate him.

“Given that that’s the case, are you sure you want me looking at this stuff?” she asked uneasily. “What if I remember the bad part of me and turn back into a terrorist?”

“A lot of this stuff is from before you ever did anything bad. From when you were a kid.” Kurt gave her a reassuring look. “I believe in you. But if you’d rather not do this yet…”

His faith in her made her feel warm inside, even as she fought her trepidation. “No, I should. Anything is better than my past just being stories I’ve heard from other people.”

She looked around. “Where would you recommend I start? Did I get memories from any of this stuff before?”

“By the time you first saw this room, you’d already gotten your full memories back. But there were some things you had stronger reactions to than others, when you saw them again. Sit down; I’ll bring them to you.”

Jane pulled a chair over to the empty desk he indicated, and watched him carefully carry something over—a narrow wooden tray covered with two rows of shallow indentations, with colourful, rounded pieces of glass scattered inside several of them. She ran her fingers over it with a confused smile. “It’s beautiful…but I have no idea what it is.”

“It’s a mancala set. A board game popular with kids in South Africa. You and Roman used to play a lot, using that set.”

Jane picked up one of the glass playing pieces, turning it over in her fingers. The gesture felt familiar somehow, but no memories surfaced to go with that feeling. She sighed. “I don’t remember how to play. Do you know?”

“You tried to teach me, but I sucked at it,” he admitted, with a self-deprecating smile. “Board game strategy was never my thing.”

Jane took several pieces from one indentation, then dropped them one at a time into different holes, following instinct.

“That’s how you play it—take all the pieces from one and scatter them into different ones, one in each. Guess it’s still in there, at the back of your mind. When you erased Roman’s memory, he did the same with sugar cubes.” There was a hint of relief in his eyes when she glanced up at him, as though this was significant.

Jane wished it felt significant to her.

“Maybe something will come back later, when I’ve stopped thinking too hard about it,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“Right. Okay, next item.” Without getting up, Kurt reached behind his chair and brought over a cream woollen blanket, edged with a blue trim. “When you first saw this, you felt it and held it to your face, and then left the room. You needed some time to re-process why it was there. Later on, you told me a happy memory attached to it, but in context, it’s also…pretty sad. I’ll tell you, if you don’t remember on your own.”

Jane nodded, stroking her hands over the blanket, feeling each indentation of the weave and the tickle of fine fibre hairs against her skin. Tentatively, feeling a little ridiculous, she brought the fabric to her face and inhaled the scent infused into the wool. Maybe it smelled like someone she used to know, but without the memory in an accessible place, ready to trigger, she was getting nothing from it.

She sighed and let the blanket rest on the table again, defeated. “Nothing. Everything is just locked away, and I can’t…”

Kurt took her hand gently. “Hey. I know this is hard, but you’re gonna get something in the end. I know you are.”

“I wish I could be so sure,” she confessed in a whisper.

“Just give yourself a little time. Do you want me to tell you the story behind the blanket?” he asked.

As she listened, he related how Shepherd wasn’t the type of mother to snuggle up with her children, but that she’d made an exception on one cold morning, when Remi had gone to Shepherd’s room while wrapped in this blanket. Curled up with Shepherd in her bed, young Remi had found it one of the happiest moments of her life.

“That’s so sad,” she murmured. “That’s something every kid should be able to take for granted.”

“Some childhoods are easier than others, I guess.” Something in the way he said it made her glance up at him, wondering if his childhood had been as harsh as hers seemed to have been. He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t feel that she knew him well enough to ask.

Or maybe he was already hurting enough, having lost the wife he knew, without her adding to it by asking about a painful part of his past.

Before either of them could break the sudden silence, Kurt’s phone vibrated, and he looked down at it with a frown. “I need to go check in with Patterson,” he said. “Are you okay here for a while? I’ll come and get you if there’s any intel we can act on, I promise.”

“Sure. I’ll take a look through the rest of this stuff.”

Kurt glanced around, then added a keychain, a journal of some kind, and a small globe to the collection on the table. Then he brushed a quick kiss over the top of her head and left her to contemplate the room that should have held so many memories for her.

Jane picked up the keychain, which was connected to a plastic bird of some kind—a toucan, she was pretty sure it was called. Yet another piece of information her mind had retained, yet was entirely useless to help her unlock her personal memories.

She turned the toucan over and over in her fingers, wishing her tears weren’t as locked away as her memories. She wanted to cry, to scream—some kind of cathartic outlet for the bottled-up emotions held inside her chest. But she just couldn’t seem to express any of it outwardly.

Had she always been so inhibited at showing her emotions, or was the new ZIP formula suppressing her ability to cry?

Either way, this surface calm was getting exhausting. She _had_ emotions, but she just couldn’t reach them properly.

Or maybe she was just afraid that she’d completely fall apart, if she found her way to them. With the Dabbur Zann still on the loose with ZIP bombs, and the fate of the team who’d been so supportive of her still hanging in the balance, she couldn’t afford to have a breakdown now.

Even if it was just for Kurt’s sake, she had to hold it together and finish this. At least it seemed like the ZIP was going to make that easy for her.


	5. Locker Room

**Five**

They dropped Tasha off on the corner to grab coffee, from what was apparently their usual coffee shop—yet another thing Jane didn’t remember. Then Kurt guided the car into the underground parking garage, and they headed from there back into the NYO, ending up in the locker room to stash their jackets and bulletproof vests.

The raid had been unsuccessful, based on red herring intel planted by Ivy to keep them running in circles. Kurt and Tasha had been vocally frustrated and discouraged on the way back to the office, and Jane might have been just as annoyed, if not for the fact that this had been her first time out in the field since her memory had been wiped.

It had been gratifying to discover the muscle memory she’d utilised in the gym and shooting range yesterday had been just as automatic in the field, in a potentially risky situation. Kurt had given her silent hand signals to tell her what to focus on and where to go, and she’d understood them all without needing to think about it. Every time she discovered something she could do—rather than being told she could do it by someone who already knew—it was validating, giving her a rush she was eager to experience as much as possible.

She closed the locker and looked over at Kurt. “So what’s next?”

“Probably more combing through CCTV footage, to see if we can spot anything new.” Kurt took a step towards the door, then seemed to reconsider. “We have a few minutes to spare, though. Come and sit with me for a second?”

He headed over to one of the benches at the end of a row of lockers, and sat down. Wondering why he’d chosen the locker room to linger in, Jane joined him, sitting about a foot away.

“What’s up?”

He shrugged. “Nothing specific. It’s just that this room has been where a few important things have happened, over the years. I figured it’d be a good idea to spend a few moments more here, just in case it helps you.”

Jane looked around the room, seeing it in a new light. “I would have thought this is just the locker room.”

He inclined his head, smiling faintly. “Yeah, but this is where we start and end our work days, get ready for undercover missions, gear up before a raid. We’ve spent a lot of time together in here. Before we lived together, it’d be where we said good morning and goodnight. Sometimes we flirted in here. Sometimes we argued. Sometimes took a little time to get our heads on straight, after something bad happened.”

Jane nodded, seeing his point. “What were the most important things that happened here?”

He looked down at his hands for a second with a soft laugh, though there was pain behind it, too. _Pain that I can’t remember._ “Our second ever kiss happened there, around that corner.” He indicated the end of the next row of lockers.

Jane’s heart skipped at the thought. Her body still seemed to remember her husband, even if her mind didn’t. Their subtle chemistry was still there, even if she needed more time and experience with him to fall back in love—at least, assuming she never got her memories back.

“I feel like I should ask about our first kiss, before we get to the second,” she said, self-conscious at how shy she was with her own husband.

“The first… That was _your_ idea. I came home from a grocery trip after work one night, and you’d snuck out of your safehouse without your protective detail. You were sitting on the bench outside the apartment building, trying to figure out if it was a good idea to go in and tell me how you felt. You didn’t know I wasn’t already inside, so you weren’t expecting to see me. I guess that’s why you just took a leap of faith and kissed me.”

Jane searched her memory in vain. The love in his eyes was something she desperately wished was meant for her, but it wasn’t. It was for the version of herself who remembered, who’d made that decision to make her feelings plain, all those years ago.

“Were you surprised?” she asked.

He paused, as though unsure how to answer the question. Fondness in his expression, he finally said, “Part of me was completely caught off guard. But another part of me just wasn’t surprised at all. Like my heart knew we were inevitable, but my brain just hadn’t accepted it yet.”

_He really is the sweetest man._

“I wish I could remember. It sounds perfect,” she said, hoping he couldn’t tell how attracted to him she was right then.

“It was. Until my ten-year-old nephew came down to help me with the groceries, and interrupted us while we were making out on the sidewalk.”

Jane covered her face with her hands, laughing. “Oh, no. That must have been so embarrassing.”

“For us, yeah. For him? Not so much,” Kurt said wryly. “Anyway, life kind of got in the way, after that. A few misunderstandings, a few secrets, a _lot_ of complications… But eventually, I felt like we were in a place where we could try again, so I found you at your locker and kissed you.”

Unsure what she might do if she remained sitting so close to him, Jane got up. “You said around this corner? I had a different locker back then?”

“Yeah.” He followed her to the row of lockers he’d indicated, and tapped his fingers against one of them. “This one was yours.”

Jane stood in front of the locker, running her hand over the door before looking around her—at everything but Kurt.

Was she blushing? This moment seemed so intense, even though she sensed no pressure from him. It wasn’t just that she was getting hot and bothered about the thought of kissing him—she only remembered knowing him for a few days, and she already felt as though she was falling for him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him break into a rueful grin as he leaned against the lockers. “This atmosphere between us right now…it’s pretty similar to how we were back then. I’ve almost missed it.”

Frowning, she looked up at him. “Almost?”

He gave a tiny shrug. “The uncertainty, the…not knowing if we should be stepping back, or if we were both on the same page… That, I haven’t missed.”

Jane nodded slowly, knowing it was irrational to feel guilty, but still unable to help herself. If she’d just kept clear of the ZIP, maybe Kurt wouldn’t be suffering so much. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He stepped in closer, sliding his fingers up one side of her jaw to tilt her face up to his, insisting on eye contact. “This isn’t on you, Jane. Ivy did this to you. And you’re gonna find your way back—one way or another.”

She nodded, about to thank him, but then his smile widened. “Not gonna ask about the part I _have_ missed?”

“What have you missed?” she asked softly.

“Watching you wonder if you should…or if I _will_ …”

Jane caught her breath, captivated by the moment. He was right; all that mattered right now were those two questions—if she should close the gap between them and kiss him, or if Kurt planned to do it.

Her instinct told her he wouldn’t, though. He wouldn’t want to take advantage by initiating anything, not when she was struggling with everything she couldn’t remember.

She _couldn’t_ remember, but she needed to _know_. How he kissed, what he tasted like, whether it might spark a reaction in her memory where nothing else had…

He wouldn’t, so she did, sliding her hand to the back of his neck and pulling him down to her. Their kiss was full of tempting discovery, yet also familiar and almost comforting, even as her body thrilled in response.

He was the only thing in the world she wanted more than her memories right now, and kissing him felt so damn _vital_ —caring and seductive and just…right.

He was the only thing in her confusing, anxiety-provoking existence that she felt sure about, that she trusted, that she—

The sound of a door opening shattered the moment, startling them both into breaking apart.

“Oh, for god’s sake, you two. I leave you alone for ten minutes, and you’re back to making out in the locker room?” Tasha’s voice was exasperated, but her face was amused. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?”

“Some things really _don’t_ change,” Kurt said, speaking to Tasha, though his amused, frustrated, deliciously heated attention was still on Jane. “Like being interrupted every time we even think about a quiet moment alone.”

“You have a kid; you should be used to that.” Tasha came over and handed them each their coffee, while Jane tried not to sink into the ground in embarrassment. “By the way, when I called Patterson for her coffee order, she said she’s got something, so don’t take too long getting smoochy, okay?”

She’d left the locker room before Jane could formulate a response, and Kurt sighed, seeming unable to help but smile.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s really not the first time. By a long shot,” he added dryly.

Unsure how to react to that, Jane brushed her hair behind her ear, then cradled her coffee cup in both hands, focusing on the warmth. “I guess we should go catch up, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kurt leaned in and brushed his lips over her forehead, the gesture tender. “But hold that thought.”

_Like I could think of anything else right now._


	6. Times Square

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Finished this with just over an hour to go until the episode airs! :D Obviously, this is written before the finale has been and gone, so I have no idea what canon has in store for us tonight. This is just me taking liberties. :D

**And one time she did remember…**

The doctors had seemed reasonably confident that the stem cells that were already in Jane’s brain, administered last year when she’d been dying of ZIP poisoning, would counteract this batch of ZIP, too. They just couldn’t say how long it would take—or if her memories would return in their entirety.

It had been almost a week—one of the longest of Kurt’s life. Jane had been so much like the woman he remembered meeting five years ago that it had shattered his heart. His wife had fought so hard since that first night in the interrogation room—fought to regain her memories and to take ownership of who she’d once been, and to be a better person. Now all of that progress had been wiped away, and to see her return to the unsure, determined-yet-fragile state she’d been in when they’d first met was devastating.

Jane was suffering far more than he was, and he should be focusing on supporting her, but sometimes he needed a moment to just…hurt.

He stared out of the window of the unmarked van, wondering if their relationship would ever be the same again. There were too many unknown variables where ZIP was concerned. If he hadn’t known Dr. Roga was such a kind, ethical person, whose intentions had been to help people, he’d have cursed her name for inventing such a destructive drug.

“Hey.” Tasha touched his arm gently. “You’re brooding again. She’s gonna be fine, Kurt. It’s different this time.”

“I know.” He sighed, looking over at the passenger seat. “It’s just hard to see her like this. Like she used to be. Not that I didn’t love her back then, but…”

“I know,” she echoed. “She lost a lot, and so did we, because we lost part of Jane. But the docs are optimistic, right? All we can do is concentrate on Ivy for now.”

He took the not-so-subtle hint, surveying the world past the windshield once more. Glancing over at Tasha, who wore a beret and large sunglasses with her long auburn wig, he asked, “You think this intel is good?”

“God, I really hope so. I just want to find every last drop of the ZIP, denature it, make sure no one ever knows how to make more. I don’t want to freak Jane out by saying it in front of her, but that stuff scares the shit out of me.”

“Me, too.” _And Jane most of all, before she was actually exposed to it again._

Times Square was just about visible if they craned their necks. They’d finally caught a break and intercepted some genuine communications between Ivy and some of her subordinates, suggesting that the place Jane had crawled out of a duffel bag five years ago would be the same place the attack went down.

Either Ivy found Jane’s ordeal fascinating, or she was taunting them.

Kurt, Tasha and Jane were taking turns scoping out the area, wearing different disguises every time, looking for anything that stood out as suspicious. Patterson and Rich were surveilling the area by digital means, and they were all hoping like hell that they could catch a break before ten p.m.—the time the bomb was scheduled to detonate.

It was just starting to get dark, and Kurt had finally eased up enough to let Jane take a turn at recon. She’d complained of a moderate headache earlier in the day, which had led to him calling the hospital to check he didn’t need to rush Jane back in. The consultant had wanted to wait a few days, telling him the headaches could even be a good thing, a sign that Jane’s system was working to clear the ZIP.

They had an appointment in a few days, but Kurt was still feeling overprotective. Ivy and the Dabbur Zann didn’t care about his worries, however, and even with a headache, Jane’s instincts in the field were better than most agents’. He’d reluctantly allowed her to come along, though the idea of Jane in the proximity of more ZIP terrified him.

“There she is.” Tasha indicated the woman with a honey brown ponytail and baseball cap, wearing a Yankees hoodie and jeans. They’d all gotten good at disguising themselves while they were on the run.

Kurt frowned. “Looks like she might have spotted something.”

Jane was walking quickly, her head down and hands in her pockets, but something about her demeanour didn’t strike him as her usual case-related urgency. Making sure his beanie and sunglasses were in place, he got out of the van and headed out to meet her.

She spotted him and broke into a jog over the final few yards that separated them, a radiant, joyful smile on her face. Before he could process that, she was right there in front of him, both hands reaching up to cradle his jaw as she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Despite how much he wanted to let the moment linger, he was too confused to do anything but gently pull back. “Jane, what—?”

She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the front of her hoodie, her eyes shining. “You’re my starting point.”

Stunned by the strength of his relief, he drew her closer. “You remembered?”

“I remembered everything, Kurt. I wasn’t even trying; I was just walking through Times Square, looking for anything out of place, and suddenly it was like this pressure in my head was just gone, and it’s all…all back.”

It seemed too good to be true. As Tasha joined them, he scrambled to make sense of his thoughts. “You remembered all of it?”

“Everything. But it’s not gonna last long if we don’t find Ivy soon.”

“This is great, Jane,” Tasha said, her body radiating tension, “but we should celebrate later. Did you notice anything? Maybe your memory was triggered by something you didn’t realise you saw?”

Jane shook her head. “I, uh, I’m sorry. I think it was coincidence that it happened at that moment—like the doctor said, the headaches were a symptom of the cure working again, in a way. But when it all came back, I was a little stunned, not really processing anything. Which is why I came back here.”

Tasha gave her a quick smile. “It’s cool. I’ve got it. You guys should get back in the van, just in case.”

Before either of them could respond, she began power-walking in the direction of Times Square, straightening her beret as she went.

Jane sighed, anxiety overshadowing her happiness. “She’s right. We should get back in the van.”

Kurt nodded. “Come on.”

They activated their comms for long enough to update Rich and Patterson, then—at an amused reminder from Patterson—de-activated them again, so they could talk while they waited for news.

“So, if you remember everything… What do I think of pineapple on pizza?” he asked, lacing his fingers through Jane’s.

“You’re a fan,” Jane said, her smile only lasting for a second or two. “Ask me something else, before I can think too hard about what Ivy is planning for tonight.”

He squeezed her hand. “What did Rich insist on calling the bunker in Prague?”

“Archie.” Jane rolled her eyes, though her expression was fond.

Kurt wished like hell that they could just forget about the Dabbur Zann, go home, celebrate the return of Jane’s memories. But Ivy had to be stopped, so he pushed the thought away, watching for Tasha in the distance.

“What’s Patterson’s first name?” he asked, keeping up the distraction.

“William.” Jane rested her head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Just…a little afraid to hope that we’ll get lucky with stopping this attack. It seems like ZIP is our Achilles’ heel.” He kissed her hair reassuringly. “But I’m fine. A hell of a lot better now your memories are back. We’ll get this over with and put Ivy behind bars, where she belongs.”

“We will. And then we’ll go home and sleep for a week.”

“I was thinking maybe a month.”

They shared an amused moment, then lapsed into quiet.

Kurt took a breath before speaking again. “I know you were trying to do damage control when you shut me out of that room. That it wasn’t just me you were protecting. But…”

He didn’t even know how he wanted to finish the sentence. _Don’t ever shut me out of a room when you might be dying, ever again. Don’t throw yourself in harm’s way as though your life is worth less than mine, or anyone else’s. Stop scaring the hell out of me like this. I can’t lose you again. I can’t._

As though she could read his mind, she just nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t get out through the door on the other side, and it was too late for me by the time you got there. If I could have gotten clear in time…”

He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She turned her face to his for a slow, reaffirming kiss. “We can do this. And then—assuming we’re not thrown in jail or something—we can do whatever we want.”

Kurt had a list of ideas a mile long, but before he could open his mouth, their comms came to life. Tasha’s voice was taut with stress. “Guys, get over here. I think I’ve found the bomb.”

Immediately, Jane pulled off her cap, wig and oversized hoodie, shedding her disguise and revealing her bulletproof vest. The time for subterfuge was over. “On our way, Tasha.”

She glanced at Kurt. “You ready?”

Kurt had already taken off his beanie and sunglasses, and was turning the key in the van’s ignition. “Ready for this to be over? You have _no_ idea.”

They shared a swift, urgent kiss, then Kurt hit the gas as Jane looped Patterson and Rich into their comms connection.

They’d been on the defence with Ivy for too damn long. It was time to finish this, and to reclaim the lives Madeline Burke and the Dabbur Zann had tried to steal from them.

Their time had come.


End file.
